Page 2 of Keeping Knight

I can’t help laughing at the memory of Chef Philip trying to saw his way through one of the meatballs we made last week. It was so tough and dense, even with one of Chef’s fancy knives, he could barely cut through it. “I wouldn’t recommend eating them,” he told us, “but on the bright side, you could make a stockpile to use for ammunition.”

Harsh? Maybe. But true.

“We don’t know that the deadly meatballs were your fault,” I say. “We were working together, remember? Maybe I messed them up.”

“You were in charge of the sauce,” Micah replies. “I was taking point on the meatballs. So it was definitely my fault.”

As he glances at our hands, mine still resting atop ‌his, my cheeks heat.

Crap. Friends don’t hold each other’s hands. Just like they’re not supposed to be wondering just how many ab muscles the other has.

Jerking my hand away, I reach for the cutting board and set it in front of us. After studying the wood grain for a few seconds, I say, “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.” Lowering my voice, I add in a conspiratorial tone, “And anyway, I’d much rather have rock-hard meatballs than work with Aidan over there.”

Micah steals a quick glance at Aidan, who we’ve privately nicknamed Teacher’s Pet. Aidan is always the one with his hand up first, and he makes sure to arrive before anyone else so he can grab the cook space closest to the instructor. He loves to ask show-offy questions, often referring to the elaborate dishes he prepared on his own at home.

Questions like, “Chef, when I was making beef Wellington over the weekend, I think I got a little tripped up on the duxelle recipe. I used shiitake mushrooms, but the flavor wasn’t quite right. Should I have used cremini instead?”

When Aidan asked that one, the expression on Micah’s face was priceless. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. But seriously. This is an intro to cooking class. For beginners. And Aidan is going on about beef Wellington?

“Maybe he should teach the class,” Micah whispered to me. “Since he’s such an expert and all.”

“Maybe,” I agreed just as quietly, “but if he does, I’m quitting.”

I wouldn’t, really. I value the three hours I spend with Micah every week too much. What started out as an impulsive decision—signing up for a cooking class as an excuse to get out of my apartment—has turned into one of my very favorite activities.

“True,” Micah agrees. He nudges me with his shoulder. Then he shoots me a mischievous smile. “Maybe we should make more of those meatballs and toss them at him whenever he asks a ridiculous question.”

I’m struck by the mental image of me and Micah, hunkered down behind the counter, taking turns darting up to fling a meatball at Aidan before ducking down again. Laughing, I say, “That would definitely make cooking class more interesting.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll screw up the biscuits, too. And we can add them to our stockpile of munitions.”

“You’re not going to screw them up. This week is going to go well. I can tell.”

Micah regards me for a second; his expression unreadable. His gaze darkens with intensity. “I think it’s started out pretty well already.”

My lungs squeeze.

Just friends, I remind myself. Just friends.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I’ve always loved chili. So I’m hoping it’s edible this time.”

“Oh?” Noticing that Chef Philip is heading towards the instructor’s counter at the front of the room, I move the recipe sheet so it’s positioned between me and Micah.

Micah nods. “Yeah.” An affectionate smile curves his lips. “When I was a kid, our chef would make chili whenever I had a cold. She said it was better than chicken soup. But⁠—”

His mouth snaps shut, and twin spots of pink rise on his cheeks.

“Class,” Chef Philip announces. “We’ll be starting the lesson in two minutes. Please make sure you’ve gotten all your ingredients. And if you need to run to the restroom, now’s the time to do it.”

Micah’s gaze skims across the counter. “Did you get everything already?”

Nodding, I reply, “I did. Since I got here early, I thought I might as well.”

“I meant to get here earlier myself,” he says. “But my last meeting of the day ran a little late. Then I kept hitting delays on my way over here.”

I shake my head in rueful agreement. “Tell me about it. I must have hit every intersection wrong. And then one of the streets I usually take to get here was closed for an accident. So I had to detour around.”

“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Micah grabs a green pepper from the pile of ingredients and rinses it in the sink. Then he pats it dry with a paper towel and sets it on the cutting board. “I’ve had to take an alternate route to work all week because there’s a movie shoot going on one block down from mine.”